Down From The Sky
by symbiotic
Summary: The end of the Second Neuroi War brought hope and prosperity. Beneath the surface however exists a dark secret that threatens the new found peace. Now Heinrike Prinzessin zu Sayn-Wittgenstein must fight to save Karlsland and its witches before an enemy hiding in plain sight plunges them both into the throes of darkness.


**Hello, readers! I'm back with another piece of Strike Witches fanfiction that I think all of you will certainly enjoy. For those who follow my work closely, this will be my primary piece for awhile. I'm planning on seeing this through to the end, as I have the entire story pretty much charted out. That means _The Ballad of Barkhorn and Yeager _and _Flying High _will temporarily be on hold. However, material I had co-opted for a sequel to the former will make an appearance in this story.  
**

**Also, this story will feature many characters from both the _Strike Witches_ anime and from manga source material. It's unfortunate that I can't tag more than four, but for fans of other witches who aren't tagged, they'll probably be in here at some point, don't you worry! In the meantime, be sure to drop a review and let me know what you think! Give me advice, leave plot suggestions (if they're not absurd), and give some constructive feedback!**

**Enjoy the story and I'll see you with the next update. Cheers!**

**-Symbiotic**

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_May 21, 1960_  
_Monte Carlo, Principality of Monaco_

_Starting at the Saint Devote, the driver enter a fast right hander and continued onward through Beau Ridge and the Massanet. Than the cars would go uphill past the famous Casino and its vaunted gardens, making a sweeping right hander into the Mirbeau Haute. Exiting in a quick hairpin near Grand Hotel and powering out the Mirbeau Bas, the drivers would then charge down toward Porties and through the tunnel, where their machines would whine and wail like angels coming down during the final days of Revelation. Out of the tunnel they would enter the Nouvelle Chicane before coming into a hard right left hander at the Tabac, transitioning then into another chicane near the pool. The Rascasse was the place to watch, for that was the prime spot for overtaking, before the cars entered the Anthony Noges right hander. Than they'd cross the line and begin to lap the Circuit de Monte Carlo all over again._

If Heinrike Prinzessin zu Sayn-Wittgenstein had to recall Armand Gabriaux's explanation of the Circuit de Monte Carlo again she was certain she'd shoot the Gallian in the head and than shoot herself so as to not hear her conscience play the layout of the circuit over and over again like a broken record. She had lost count of how many times Armand had recalled the course, the "crown jewel of the world championship", and feared that he may have actually explained it to her more times than she could confirm a kill against a neuroi during the Second World War. If indeed he had repeated the racecourse's layout to her eighty three times, she felt it was a wonder she was not dead.

The wind off the Mediterranean blew through her hair as she stood on the edge of her suite's balcony at the Hotel de Paris Monte Carlo. Her hands tightly gripped the wrong iron barrier as she looked out at the streets below her, the Mediterranean and Monaco's harbor readily apparent through her sunglasses as she looked out onto the sea before. It was twilight on the city of small city state that sat just south of Gallia. The sun burned in a blood red hue in the sky, making the Mediterranean appear as if it was set ablaze. The ivory colored walls of the Hotel de Paris took on a creamsicle esque color in the sun set, shadows and stone intermingling to form a dancing pageant of flickering shapes that seemed to shift by the minute on the street below. The breeze continued to pick up over the principality, ruffling the leaves of the trees below and sending fliers advertising the Grand Prix that would occur the following day scattering out in the breeze.

One gust caused one of the fliers up high enough that it slipped right past Heinrike. She paid close attention to the updraft carrying the paper, closing her eyes for a brief moment and holding her breathe so as to concentrate her entire brain power on her sense of touch, feeling the wind blow over her skin as it gave its direction away to her. Once she had determined its direction and its speed, she opened her eyes let her right hand off of the railing, moving her fingers back and forth slowly until the right moment. Calculating in her mind where she believed the flier would end up, she quickly made her decision and reached up into the air. In that instant she had grabbed the flyer out of the air, holding it in her hand in a crumbled mass.

She held the flier in her hand and went to let go before she heard the rhythmic sound of two hands clapping behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the smiling face of Armand grinning at her, his maw stretched wide open with a Gauloises cigarete held between two teeth, his white shirt only half buttoned to reveal his pubic looking chest hair. Heinrike furrowed her brow at the sight of Armand clapping his hands like a child. She had barely any idea what was applause worthy about her grabbing the flier out of the air, and she knew he'd have to be humored when she had no desire to do so.

"That was very impressive, mon chéri," Armand remarked. He took his cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers as he walked up to her side. A gust picked up and blew the Gauloises' pungent tobacco scent into the air and up into her nostrils. She covered her mouth with her wrist and let out a small cough. She detested the aroma of the Gauloises'. Nothing about them was mild or pleasant to her, unlike what Armand claimed they were like.

"It was nothing special," Heinrike said. She looked out at the sea. Her hand still held the flyer tightly, like a weapon that would be of little use if Armand finally decided to have his way with her.

"Ah, but it was very special, mon chéri," Armand remarked. He took a drag of from his cigarette and puffed the smoke out into the air of Monte Carlo. "You are still a fine marksman if I ever saw one. I never saw you shoot neuroi down dans le noir, but I bet it was much like that."

"What would make you think that me grabbing a flier out of the air is like shooting down a neuroi, Armand?" Heinrike questioned.

"I heard that the neuroi have a heart that must be destroyed if they are to truly disappear," Armand stated. "Is that true, Heinrike?"

Heinrike looked over at Armand with a raised left eyebrow. She had known him for almost a year and had dated him for roughly sixth months, only even considering dating him because her mother and father pestered her with relentless concerns that their beloved daughter, the princess of the Sayn-Wittgenstein aristocracy, was going to live the rest of her life as a spinster near the residence of her former airbase in northern Gallia. She had met Armand at a gala hosted as a reunion of former witches whom she had served with in Gallia, he being the brother of a witch who was only fourteen years old when Heinrike was commanding 506th Joint Fighter Wing's A Squadron. He had seemed like a decent fellow at the time; a regular gentleman who knew how to treat a lady, but Heinrike had found his obsession with sports, his tendency to talk in exaggerated tones, and his free spending ways that came from his job within the Gallian government too much for her. Heinrike may not have wished to marry a peasant, but she knew that a rich man like Armand was certainly too wanton for her tastes.

"It's very true," Heinrike said curiously. "Why do you bring this up?"

"I imagine that to kill a neuroi it was like tearing the heart out of an animal, was it not?" Armand asked. Heinrike watched as she took another drag from his cigarette and than blew the smoke out of his nostrils. "A certainly most gruesome act for the sake of humanity, don't you believe?"

Heinrike shook her head and gave Armand no speech. He was acting in a manner that was ridiculous for the sake of being ridiculous, and she had little patience for when he acted this way. She hoped that he would shut his mouth and simply stand there with her in silence to watch the sunset, yet instead he continued to babble mercilessly. "And tomorrow, in the early afternoon, we shall see Jack Brahbham perhaps rip the heart out of Stirling Moss as he attempts to win here at Monaco for the first time, like I have predicted. Perhaps it will be the day when..."

"A Gallian driver wins the Grand Prix like you so desperately have craved since you were a little boy?" Heinrike remarked. "I know the story, Armand. You've told me many times."

"Perhaps I have, mon chéri," Armand said with a chuckle. He took one last drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out on the railing and flicking it out onto the street below. "But that won't make it any less significant or less fulfilling when that Gallian driver, perhaps Maurice Trintignant, breaks the curse and wins on the beautiful Circuit de Monte Carlo."

"And what will you do if you Monsieur Trintignant doesn't win this year?" Heinrike asked.

"Why, I don't know if mon coeur could take that again, mon chéri," Armand remarked. He stepped over and placed his right hand atop Heinrike's left. Heinrike looked up at him through her sunglasses. "But it would be a tragedy on a most grand scale, if I do say so. Why, I might just..."

Armand's soliloquy was interrupted when Villette and Curtis LeMand, a couple who were two of Armand's best friends, burst through the door of the balcony. Both Heinrike and Armand looked over at Villette. Both Villette and Curtis looked distressed, her face faded in color and a nervous look strewn across their visages. But most striking to both Heinrike and Armand was her holding the pearl and gold rotary phone that had been part of their suite in her hands, its long wire stretching across the floor and seemingly ready to tear the wall socket out at any moment.

"What's going on?" Armand asked curiously. "Why do you have the phone in your hands, Villette?"

"It's for Heinrike," Villette said quickly. "It's from a witch you served with in the war."

Heinrike quickly directed her gaze at the LeMands. "What do you mean a witch who I served with?"

"There was news of the utmost importance from one of your old comrades," Curtis said in a somber tone. "They requested to speak with you directly on the matter."

"Did this person give a name?" Heinrike asked.

"Yes they did," Villette said. "They sounded like they were perhaps from Romagna or Venezia. We could not tell. But she said her name is Adriana Visconti."

Heinrike didn't have to think twice when she heard the name of the caller. Without saying a word she took the phone from Villette's hands and went inside of the suite, slamming the glass door to the balcony shut nearly hard enough for glass to shatter. Setting the phone down on the table, she quickly put the receiver to her ear and began to speak. "This is Wittgenstein," she said firmly.

"Heinrike? Is that you?" a female voice said on the other line.

Heinrike furrowed her brow slightly as she heard the voice. It was undoubtedly that of Adriana Visconti, a witch from a wealthy Romagnan family that she had served with in the 506th Joint Fighter Wing's A squadron. "Yes its me," she replied

"Oh thank goodness," Adriana said quickly, at an almost breathless pace. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for a few days. I had to reach out to your mother to find out where you were. How are you? What are you doing in Monaco?"

The thought of Adriana calling her mother to find her whereabouts made Heinrike feel slightly uneasy. "I'm fine, just here for the Grand Prix with some friends," Heinrike said. "What's going on, Adriana?"

There was a pause on Adriana's end that left Heinrike standing in silence. The hiatus went for a few minutes roughly, Heinrike only hearing her muffled name coming through on Adriana's end of the line along with what sounded like crying. Heinrike felt uncertain about the call the more the Adriana continued to cry. She knew of the old cliche that Romagnans and Venezians could be emotional, but she was willing to guess that something more dire had occurred for her to have to hear Adriana sobbing on the other end of the phone.

"Adriana?" Heinrike said. "Adriana, is everything alright?"

"Heinrike," Adriana said emotionally. "Heinrike..something's happened to Isabelle.." There was muffled crying on the other end of the phone that made Heinrike raise her eyebrows. She knew that Adriana was talking about Isabelle du Monceau de Bergendal, a Beligcan witch who had fought alongside both her and Adriana in the 506th Joint Fighter Wing's A Squadron. Knowing that Adriana was indeed talking about one of her old comrades made Heinrike's heart begin to slip from her chest and down into her stomach. Adriana continued to cry on the other end.

"Adriana, please," Heinrike said. "What happened to Isabelle?"

"There's been a terrible accident and.." Adriana said in a nearly incoherent manner through sobs. "And...Isabelle is...she's dead...Isabelle's dead Heinrike."

The slipping feeling Heinrike had in her stomach went from being a slow slide to a full on plunge, as Heinrike felt a massive weight fall into her stomach and nearly make her knees buckle. Her hands slowly began to tremble from the wrist to her fingers, shaking and struggling to hold a grip on the phone receiver as both her and Adriana were absolutely silent on both ends. In that silence, Heinrike could already hear herself asking questions. They did not start as mental whispers, but quickly rather as subconscious shouts that evolved into a highly conscious cacophony in her head. She gritted her teeth together and did her best to silence the uncertainty in her head, her grimace making the internal noise die down in a decrescendo the way a conductor would silence an orchestra.

Heinrike looked over her shoulder, seeing Armand, Curtis, and Villette looking at her from the doorway of the balcony worringly. Seeing them look at her made Heinrike sigh and take a deep breath before speaking to Adriana. "I need to go," she stated. "I'll see you in Belgica very soon. Please let the others know I'm coming."

"Of course," Adriana said. "I'll see you there, Heinrike. I hope you enjoy your vacation."

"Thank you, Adriana," Heinrike said. With that she hung up the phone and without looking back walked to her bedroom. Picking her luggage up off the floor and taking her clothes out of the amour in the bedroom, Heinrike began to pack without even paying attention to the others in her party. The three Gallians who she had traveled with walked in from the balcony and were looking at Heinrike as she packed. Their concerned presence was unmistakable, and Heinrike felt it increasingly unwelcome for all of its good intentions. "What are you doing, mon chéri?" Armand asked.

She had no patience for Armand's questioning. "I'm leaving," she stated stoically.

"Leaving?" Armand exclaimed. "But the Grand Prix is tomorrow!"

"That's unfortunate, but I'm leaving."

She continued to neatly pack her clothes into the luggage case as Armand, Villette, and Curtis watched her from the doorway. "But I've already paid for our tickets!" Armand exclaimed. "You can't just leave!"

"I'm sure you can sell them on the street, Armand." She was silent for a few minutes as she finished packing her clothes, locking her luggage shut after she put her last article of clothing inside. After locking up the luggage picked up her remaining belongings and threw them in her purse, holding it over her shoulder as she went to carry her luggage out of the bedroom and toward the front door. The three Gallians quickly stepped aside for her, but Armand chased after her as she made her way toward the suite's door.

"If you leave then...then..." Armand stuttered. "Then we're..."

"We're what, Armand?" Heinrike said as she went to turn the doorknob.

"We're through!" Armand shouted. "I won't accept being walked out on after all the work I put in for this trip!"

Heinrike remained still and did not turn to face Armand, holding her hand absolutely still on the doorknob. She began to play out near scripted scenes in her head, scenes where she entered into protracted shouting matches and blunt objects would be drawn against both herself and Armand in a fight between them to the death. But before she could even raise her voice, the questions began to flare up in her mind again. Those questions she felt were worth more time and energy than any fight with the Gallian man who had paid for her to see a race that she had little desire to see in the first place.

"If you think a race is more important than the death of a witch, then so be it," Heinrike declared calmly. "We're through, Armand."

With that, she opened the door and walked out, not even so much as slamming it behind her as she walked down the hall and left the Hotel de Paris. She did not bother looking to see if Armand was chasing after her.


End file.
